ATHENA'S STORY
by GabrielleRose88
Summary: Everyone knows that Athena gave birth to the legend of Medusa the monster. What no one knows is the passionate friendship that once existed between goddess and mortal...and how it was destroyed by the vicious act of Poseidon's lust. A new take on an old story... UPDATED AT LAST! Please review!
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

It is a hot day on Olympus, too hot for me to go and attend to my temples. I am lying on my stomach, the smooth cushions of the divan caressing my cheeks as tenderly as a mother cradles her baby.

 _As my mother might have cradled me…_

With an effort, I jerk my mind away from the mother I do not have and toward the small fantasy I always use to distract me whenever I think of her. Sometimes it is good, even for a moment, to pretend that I am just an ordinary mortal woman lying down after a hard day of housework and preparing food. If the other gods knew this was what I imagine while relaxing, they would laugh in derision. I know that I should not care what my fellow deities think of me, that I should go about my business with little concern for the opinions of others. But I know that I cannot survive alone. A wolf needs the protection and support of its pack to thrive; it is the same with a goddess and the pantheon.

The wind blows softly throughout my private chambers, bringing with it the fragrance of cinnamon. I can feel the wind gently tugging at my dark brown hair, trying to tempt a few strands loose from the chignon. My head is sunk deep into the soft but slightly firm pillow. Despite the heat, the breeze feels wonderful on my back. In weather such as this, a goddess can feel sluggish enough to dream…

"It's amazing what a little laziness can do to such an overachiever."

My eyes fly open and in an instant I am sitting up, glaring at the intruder. My brother Hermes hovers in the air, his winged sandals keeping him aloft. He is more than two centuries younger than I am, but any mortal would think he had been born only twenty years ago. Hermes delights in displaying adolescent behavior and playing pranks upon god and mortal alike. His eyes are a mischievous light blue and seem to become even lighter whenever he is planning a prank. It is easy to see how he, like my father and the rest of my brothers, can enchant women and convince them to bear his sons and daughters.

But right now, all I feel towards Hermes is irritation at having been disturbed in the middle of my meditations. I throw a pillow at him, but he darts aside, causing the pillow to fly and clash against the wall where it explodes. A cluster of feathers issues forth from the slit, rising half-heartedly and then slowly descending to the floor. "You really need to improve your aim, sister," Hermes comments dryly as he disengages a few feathers from his precious hair.

"What do you want, Hermes?" I demand testily. "I am really not in the mood for any of your tricks, so you had best fly out of here before I send your pestilential entrails to Tartarus!"

"Such language, sister!" Hermes chides, although the corners of his mouth twitch as if he might laugh. "What would Father say to hear you talk so, like a common fishwife?"

Failing to come up with a clever response, I vent my irritability by hurling another pillow at my obnoxious brother. This second pillow, like its predecessor, also misses its target and another storm of feathers envelopes my chamber. Hermes sighs as he plucks more feathers from his hair. "Father requests your presence. He has called an assembly of all the gods and goddesses in his main hall."

Reluctantly, I rise from the divan and drape a light orange _peplo_ over my hair. I secure the _peplo_ with several pins and then follow my brother from my chamber. Hermes is an accomplished liar but he does not lie when it comes to our father and the frequent pantheon meetings that are called. Once, Hermes did spread word of a meeting that Zeus never called. All of us showed up at our father's banquet hall, only to find him in a rare and rather intimate tete a tete with Hera. I do not know what my father did to punish Hermes for his insolence, but Hermes has not since attempted any similar pranks.

It is difficult to describe what lies between our individual godly residences and the main palace from which Zeus rules as king over us all. Some mortals believe that because Mt. Olympus touches the sky, we gods live amongst clouds. Others think that we dwell in the mountain's deep dark gorges. But both groups are mistaken. Gardens both great and small occupy some of the walking distance to the palace. A large courtyard makes up the rest of the vicinity and there is little else to say about the surroundings.

Hermes leads me through the bastion's entrance to the main hall where the other Olympian gods have gathered. The circular chamber is enormous; the walls are formed from polished but rough-cut white stone. Some of the gods attribute this architectural preference to Zeus' childhood in the caves of Mt. Ida, where he hid from his tyrannical and bloodthirsty father Cronus. I myself would prefer this room to be constructed from polished marble and ivory, but Zeus is the ruler of Olympus and its gods. His word is law.

Eleven different thrones stand semi-circle before my father's, which is positioned on a mosaic dais depicting his battles against Cronus and the Titans. My stepmother Hera occupies the throne on Zeus' right; her throne is variously decorated with inlaid pearls and lapis. Hera is a striking woman with fair skin and deep-set light blue eyes. Her golden-blonde hair is braided and swept up beneath her purple _peplo_. Her favorite golden diadem rests atop her head, while golden earrings dangle from her earlobes. Hera and I get along quite well with each other and she is usually the first person to back me up whenever my father and I have our rare little disputes. She is also quite clever and witty but becomes easily enraged when Zeus leaves their bed for his frequent trysts with mortal women or nymphs. Even though such extramarital behavior is common among god and men alike, I nonetheless feel sorry for my stepmother and wish my father would pay her more attention.

Seated next to Hera is my father's older brother Poseidon. Poseidon has always been antagonistic towards me for some unknown reason, long before he lost the contest that determined which of us would claim Athens as a primary place of cult worship. Most of the Olympian males scorn my chosen status as a virgin goddess, and Poseidon especially never misses an opportunity to openly mock me for it. Like my father, Poseidon is powerfully built with bulging muscles and strong limbs. His deep blue eyes are unsettling and his dark blue-black hair and beard give him an intimidating appearance. This image of power is complete with the silver trident he holds, a gift from the Hundred-handers after the final battle with Cronus.

Next come my younger twin brother and sister, Apollo and Artemis. Their thrones are unusual because the two seats fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Artemis, the older of the duo, sits upright in a seat encrusted with silver and covered with various animal skins. The skins emphasize Artemis' role as goddess of the hunt. Like me, she also chose to remain a virgin and is as fiercely protective of her chastity as I am of mine. Artemis' devotion to the single life is so steadfast that all her earthly handmaidens are required to be virgins. This younger sister of mine has honey-colored hair that is pulled back into a high bun, with a few loose strands that give her a slightly wild look. Her silver hunting bow and quiver of arrows lie at her feet, always ready to be used. Her twin, Apollo, has curly hair of the same shade but he adorns his tresses with a crown of laurel leaves. Like Artemis, Apollo also carries a bow and quiver of arrows, but these objects are gold-colored and can be unbearably hot upon touch to anyone but the owner himself. The arrows are particularly deadly, for they have the power to cast sunstroke upon their victims. A slow and agonizing death eventually kills the unlucky target after his body is pierced. Apollo's seat is also gold-colored; thankfully, death does not lie within this chair.

Demeter, the harvest goddess, comes next. She does not care much for jewels and usually just wears a pendant with a single amber stone set in the middle. Her clothing and general appearance are just as simple- a dark green stola with a matching _peplo_ over her dusky auburn hair. Demeter only dresses in lighter colors when her daughter Persephone leaves the Underworld for their three months together.

My brother Hephaestus sits next to Demeter. His reputation for craftsmanship with metal and other materials is quite renowned. He is the individual who carved all our thrones in the main hall. For all his skill with his hammer and chisel, he is often taciturn and does not like to socialize with the rest of us. I credit his behavior mostly to artistic temperament, for he has been known to react violently whenever any of us question his work. He is not particularly attractive and seems to take a fierce enjoyment in looking and smelling as though he has just come forth from his forge, which he undoubtedly has. Hephaestus' dark brown eyes move over each of the other thrones, as though daring us to challenge his right to be present here.

Aphrodite, that ever-persistent temptress of so-called "love" sits next to Hephaestus. Her kinship to the rest of us gods is unknown. According to some gods, Aphrodite entered the world because of Cronus' blood touching the earthly waters as Zeus cast him deep into Tartarus. The other gods believe that Aphrodite is a result of a tryst between Zeus and a Titan goddess named Dione. Whatever the truth of her origins, Aphrodite makes fools of men and immortals alike. The mischief and heartbreak that result from her actions seem, in my opinion, only to delight her. Her shamelessness extends to her appearance- she does not even have the decency to wear a modest robe or cover her hair with a _peplo_. Now Aphrodite wears a rose-colored chiton with a neckline cut so low that it exposes the top of her perfect and abundant breasts. Every now and then she casts a malicious smile in my direction, no doubt thinking that I envy the curvaceous hips and seductive smile that would make even the most responsible shepherd boy shirk his responsibilities for a night with the goddess of love. Aphrodite could not be more mistaken; I have no interest in pursuing an amorous relationship with a mortal or immortal. However, it might be nice to have someone think _me_ beautiful and alluring occasionally.

Directly next to Aphrodite sits another of my brothers, Ares. If his entire character could be summarized in one word, it would be _destruction_. He is my fellow deity of war but there the likeness ends. Ares glorifies in conflict of any kind, senseless and bloody battles being his preference. He is impulsive and reckless, always ready to retaliate to any slight he thinks is cast his way. For all his battle-lust, he is a born coward. None of us Olympians, especially Zeus and Hera, like him. Ares has dark amber eyes that are always raging with anger while his dark hair and beard bristle beneath his warrior's helmet.

Enough has been said about Hermes, who now settles into his throne with careless abandon. The throne next to his used to belong to Hestia, Zeus' eldest sister and virgin goddess of the hearth. Hestia granted her throne to my brother Dionysus after she decided that Olympus' issues had become too centered on idle discussion and little action. This aunt of mine instead throws her energies into what she feels is productive work- cleaning the many hearths, scouring the floors, or pruning the garden bushes. Performing these tasks helps clear the mind, she says, and I often find myself working alongside her during my infrequent mood swings. Hestia is also a great listener and never interrupts one's recitation of personal daily problems, preferring to reserve judgement until after the speaker has finished talking.

The best way to describe my brother Dionysus is to say that he lives for celebrations, particularly ones that involve both men _and_ women. He is especially renowned both for hosting and taking part in great orgies, if half the rumors about him are true. His eyes are always bloodshot and his long flaxen hair is quite untidy. Little more can be said about him.

Now, the sound of thunder loudly echoes throughout the main hall. For a moment, the entire room is bathed in piercing white light which temporarily blinds us all. When the light fades away, we again regain our sight. Looking down at the floor, I see the fading ashes of a thunderbolt and know that Zeus has at last arrived in the main hall. My father is built along the lines of the dashing soldiers that mortal women sometimes dream of. Like the rest of us, he is taller than the average mortal. His muscles bulge with the strength of a thousand men put together but his torso is otherwise slight. His eyes are a deep blue, rather like the sea during a storm; a slight cunning can almost always be seen. Undoubtedly, swallowing my mother whole has only increased his ability to strategize successfully.

As Zeus opens this meeting of the gods, I find my mind gradually wandering to the various tasks and duties I must perform within the next month: consecrating this year's virgin novitiates, annually blessing the oldest olive tree, reading the petitions of my worshippers… The list goes on and on.

Suddenly, I am aware that my father's voice has fallen silent and that everyone is staring at me. Completely at a loss to know why I am being ogled like a sacrificial holocaust, I stare back at them stupidly. "Athena," my father says, a bite of impatience in his voice, "you are not paying attention!"

Like any mortal child caught doing something she should not, I feel my ears redden and I find myself wishing that I could just disappear into the nethermost region of the earth.

"My apologies, Lord Zeus," I manage to say quietly, as if that will lessen my humiliation. It does not. "What were you speaking about?"

It is my cantankerous brother Ares, not my father, who speaks up. "We were speaking about Athens' unjust seizure of the fertile land around Thrace! You ought to pay more attention to your capital's dealings, stupid wench!"

Ares has always shown rudeness towards me- he is rude to everyone but Aphrodite, who simply defers to him. I raise my eyebrows and retort coolly, "I pay more attention to my capital's dealings than you might think. That is why warriors seek _my_ patronage and not _yours_ when going into battle, Ares. And as for Athens' 'unjust seizure' of that region? Thrace has no claim to that area of land. If your warriors paid more attention to peace treaty settlements and less to vainglorious actions, maybe Thrace's population wouldn't always be so short on men."

Ares opens his mouth to snap back but our father's voice booms across the hall as it does when he is either really enraged or irritated. "Enough!"

Chastised like children, both my brother and I fall silent as Zeus re-takes the floor. For a moment, I fear that he might throw another of his thunderbolts just to alleviate his anger with us. Surprisingly, he does not. What he does instead is ten times worse. "I am sick unto death of you two fighting like a pair of harpies," he says in a cold, quiet voice. "Therefore, you are both condemned to a year of mortal existence until you learn to better comport yourselves as gods."

At this, both Ares and I let out indignant cries. "It is all her fault!" Ares shouts at Zeus. "Don't punish me just because your unnatural daughter refuses to take responsibility for what her pestilential citizens do!"

"Oh, _my_ fault, is it?" I retort, laughing sarcastically. "Why, I shall- "

This time, Father does hurl a thunderbolt into the middle of the room; the collision is so loud that I clap my hands over my ears until after the aftershock has faded. When I remove my hands from my ears, I look up to find Father still glaring at Ares and me. It is pointless to look to the other gods for help; they all cower whenever Zeus loses his temper.

Ares and I both look at our father in shock. Spend an entire year as helpless mortals? I know that Ares would rather spit-polish Hephaestus' forge three times over than live as a mortal for just one year. As for me, I am in shock. Yes, I have spent most of my daydreaming moments fantasizing about the freedoms mortals have. But these daydreams featured me living in an oasis of sorts, isolated save for several handmaidens. In these fantasies, I did not have to work but spent my time weaving at my leisure and exploring the caverns that lay adjacent to the oasis.

But the reality of a mortal woman's life, I have heard, is quite different. Having to live among a group of women, to spend all my time preparing food and rearing children is not the way I imagine occupying my life. When not doing these things, mortal housewives are expected to weave cloth for the household. Rarely do they weave the silken clothes and tapestries that I love; most of the woven product turns out to be rough, undyed clothing. And that is only how wealthy mortal women live. Their sisters in the lower classes not only give birth to children in squalor but also slave away at their husband's vendor stands in the agora.

My mind has wandered yet again and for the second time, Ares' voice brings me back to the present. "You cannot do this to me!" he shouts at our father. "You cannot punish me in this way, making me toil on the earth as a helpless mortal!" Whenever Ares raises his voice, his tone becomes childish and whiney. For once I long to add my voice to his, to stamp my foot and demand of my father why he would inflict such a punishment on me. But though I can feel my ears reddening with anger, I bite back my tongue with great difficulty.

To judge from the scowl on Zeus' face, he has plainly had enough of Ares' temper tantrum. "SILENCE!" he bellows, and again his voice rings impressively throughout the hall. By the time the repercussions have died down, Zeus is master of himself again. "Now, the two of you will spend one year among the mortals without your immortality and without your powers. This means that you will be exposed to all the diseases and conditions that the mortals face every day. You will toil long and tire easily…"

At this point, I can no longer keep my silence. "But my temples! My duties as a goddess!"

" _I_ will answer all petitions that come to each of your respective temples," my father continues mildly, though he throws a reproachful look at me for interrupting him. He then resumes his speech. "You are not allowed to tell any mortal your identity, not that they will actually believe you. If either of you violate this settlement, your sentence as a mortal will increase."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

"I cannot believe that my father would do this to me!"

I am sitting with my back against the marble fountain in the Olympian gardens, watching my aunt Hestia prune the rosebushes. My chin rests upon my knees, which are hugged up against my chest as though I am still a little girl. I realize that my whining sounds like that of a spoiled child, but I do not care. How could Zeus condemn me, his favorite child and firstborn, to a year of mortal existence merely because I dared to put Ares in his proper place? It is not as though I participated in a coup to overthrow Zeus and place myself upon his throne. He once condemned his brother Poseidon and my brother Apollo to human servitude just for that reason. But all of us quarrel with Ares, so why would Zeus brand me as the scapegoat?

So many questions pour through my mind that I feel as though my head might explode. I do not even notice that Hestia has finished pruning the roses and is now sitting beside me, rubbing a small amount of oil onto her hands. One of Hestia's best characteristics is that she is a good listener. She will allow you to tell her your troubles and not speak until you finish. This trait makes it easy for one to trust and confide in her. I once saw, to my great surprise, my reclusive uncle Hades conversing quietly with Hestia in these same gardens. I have often wondered what the two discussed but know better than to question Hestia, for she will never betray a confidence.

Now Hestia speaks. "Maybe Zeus is struggling with a matter more troubling than your spat with Ares. It is no easy thing to be king of the gods, you know. Your father risked much and more to get to where he is today. He has faced countless enemies who would have taken his throne from him in an instant had he not wiped them out first. And I imagine that his liaisons with mortal women have not always been as blissful as he would have liked. He has many mortal offspring, every one of whom he is charged to protect, and he also has to contend with Hera's displeasure at their very existence." She sighs a little and then adds, "Not that I am condoning his extramarital relationships, but he is a god and gods take their pleasures as seriously as the mortal men do.

"What I am saying, dearest niece, is try to understand the scene from your father's point of view. Zeus can endure conflict between mortals, even his own clashes against monsters like Typhoeus. But the one thing Zeus _cannot_ abide is strife within his own house, particularly when the argument is between two of his own offspring. It reflects upon his ability to maintain order in Olympus and might undermine his authority as ruler of gods and men. Worst of all, the mortals would no longer make offerings or say prayers to him." Hestia looks seriously at me. "Do you understand what I am saying to you, Athena?"

I understand much of what my aunt has said to me regarding my father, but at the same time feel just as confused as ever about the complications that might arise from something as petty as a simple argument between brother and sister.

Silently, I nod and our conversation ends there.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Hermes takes Ares and me separately to our mortal destinations. I expect Hermes to torment me with his jokes and rather suggestive comments but for once he keeps his mouth shut. By now I have accepted that my father has decided to condemn me to a year of human mortality, although the thought of living as a mortal still terrifies me. I have never been subjected to hardship or disease and the fear of physical pain, however slight, frightens me more than I can say.

My thoughts are interrupted by the realization that Hermes' chariot has come to a halt. We are in a small forest clearing with a river rushing through on one side. At this moment, I am horribly confused and demand to know why I am not at my assigned destination. It is very unlikely that Zeus would punish me by confining me to solitary existence in a forest glade. He knows that solitude is no punishment for me and that I am not likely to become prey to forest animals. I credit this latter strength to my sister Artemis' tutelage, although I do not like the idea of primitive living.

In response to my questions, Hermes replies that I must _walk_ the remaining distance to my destination. When I demand to know why he will not take me the rest of the way, Hermes merely says that Father will not allow it. And before I can retort with a scathing remark, Hermes has taken off in his chariot. For a few seconds I stand motionless, still staring furiously up at the sky and occupying my mind with two thoughts. The first thought that entertains my mind is the world of torture into which I intend to place Hermes once I regain my pantheon powers. This notion is immediately accompanied by a more troubling realization: I have no idea how to reach my destination without encountering difficulties along the way. As a goddess, I have never encountered this problem. I could appear in a place one minute and then reappear somewhere else in the next moment. All at the slightest whim.

The experience is quite different when one has been demoted from goddess to mere mortal. Who knows what troubles one might encounter when one is not only a mortal but a woman as well? But then I pull myself together and start off after a few moments' confusion regarding the proper direction. I decide to trust my instincts- a most unusual thing for me to do- and turn my steps eastward.

I am unaware how much time passes before I finally come upon a break in the forest. It is clear, despite my new identity as a mortal, I am still mentally processing time and space -or the actual lack of both- as a goddess does. Before me lies a town which I know at first sight to not be my beloved Athens. Athens is in a region of Attica that is full of hills; in contrast, this area offers a faint view of islands in the far-off distance. This strange town also hosts a large seaport whereas Athens is completely land-based. As I venture closer to this bastion of civilization, I can hear a cacophony of sounds issuing from what looks to be the town's agora. The agora is completely packed with people, vendors' stalls, and loading donkeys. I see men in discussion with each other, gesticulating in ways that indicate they are conducting business deals. The roar of the crowds drowns out their voices and I am thus unable to hear what the men are bargaining. The few women I see are clearly not of the upper class. Their skin looks so tight and leathery from years of exposure to the sun that it is impossible to distinguish the old from the young. These women are undoubtedly the wives or daughters of the stall vendors. Some of the women stand beside the men and look on as the latter conduct business. Other females are minding the small children that are frolicking between the various stalls. One woman stands under a cheap canopied stall, bouncing a toddler on her hip.

The agora is also full of smells, some of which are so disgusting that I clutch my _peplo_ to my nose and mouth to avoid breathing in the stenches. Most of these unpleasant aromas issue from various points in the streets where men take the liberty of publicly relieving their bowels. At the same time, I catch whiffs of more positive scents such as fresh fruit and freshly baked bread. It is this latter aroma that makes me realize how hungry I am. Most mortals believe that gods do not feel hunger or thirst and therefore cannot suffer the pangs that come with both experiences. It is certainly true- to an extent, that is. The only thing my fellow deities and I have ever been known to imbibe is ambrosia, a sweet nectar that is impossible to describe to non-immortal ears. While a god cannot die from lack of ambrosia, the near-starvation affects his mental faculties and personal powers to such extremes that the result can only be determined as madness.

The aroma of fresh bread has unconsciously brought me to a vendor's stall where the food lies in small neat rows. The loaves look so inviting that I find myself reaching out to take a piece off the stand…

The stinging blow that descends upon my right ear is so powerful that I am completely knocked off my feet. The edge of my _peplo_ falls from my grasp and I fall face first onto the ground. This part of the street is thankfully free from animal and human waste but the physical impact brings tears to my eyes. I look up to see a stout vendor standing over me, tiny eyes narrowed in anger. "Be off with you, you filthy scavenger!" he bellows, loud enough for most of the people in the street to hear over the din. My eyes burn with tears and my face is hot with rage. I am about to rise to my feet and show him what happens to mortals who dare strike goddesses when I suddenly remember that I have no powers now. Were I to proclaim myself the goddess Athena, the crowd would undoubtedly mock me unto death. Still, I feel the urge to punish this arrogant individual, but cannot come up with a suitable enough punishment.

Just then, a low soft voice behind me asks, "Are you lost, good lady?"

I turn around to see a young woman in dark blue standing next to me. Unlike the other women present in the agora, this woman is not a commoner. It is hard to tell, of course, because she is wearing a dark blue peplo that hides her hair and the lower part of her face. It is the porcelain paleness of her hands that mark her for an upper-class woman and her voice is different from those of the other mortal women I have encountered thus far. Those women have voices that screech like angry monkeys while this woman has a voice that flows like a gentle stream of water. She is taller than the vendor and could carries herself like a goddess. Behind her I can see a man, most likely a slave. He is just a little taller than his mistress and has muscular arms and a lanky build. Although his face is devoid of any discernable expression, I sense that he would commit murder for his mistress if she told him to.

The vendor is startled to have been interrupted by an upper-class woman but he recovers speech within minutes. "I caught this scavenger trying to steal bread from my stand," he says in an aggravated tone. "She just wandered up to my stand, bold as you please, and attempted to rob me with her grubby fingers!"

This is so insulting that I open my mouth to retort but the slave shoots me a warning look from under his dark lashes. I suddenly find myself closing my mouth and keep my silence just as if the slave has struck me dumb.

The young woman has not noticed any of this, for her eyes are still firmly fixed on the market vendor. "Do you not know who this is?" she hisses at him in a low but audible tone. Before the vendor can reply, the woman speaks again. "This is Tanis, daughter of Tassos. Tassos is the finest spice merchant in the land and a friend of the king's cook."

The vendor suddenly looks uncertain but again finds his voice quickly. "Why would a spice merchant's daughter try to steal from my humble stand?"

Instead of answering this question, the woman moves to the front of the bread stand and bends to sniff at the loaves. "This bread doesn't smell fresh," she announces frankly. The vendor, the slave, and I all stare at her blankly. She moves back toward the vendor and says in an accusatory voice, "This bread is stale. What do you think would happen if I were to go to the authorities and inform them that you have been selling stale bread to unsuspecting customers?"

The vendor's face seems to pale slightly under his weathered complexion. I can imagine the dilemma that has just now taken residence in his mind. Whether his wares are fresh or stale is not the issue. The true problem is that a person of the young lady's social standing can inform her husband or father of the vendor's alleged crime and the head of her family can take the case to court. The vendor would most likely be found guilty because the jury would consist of upper-class males who would undoubtedly side with the man who brought the complaint to the court's notice. The vendor would likely suffer public humiliation by being confined to the stocks or worse, having his business stand razed. With all these realizations running through his head, the vendor recants his charge against me and the young woman motions me to follow her and her slave. I realize that I have nowhere else to go and decide to accompany my new acquaintance. I look back as we make our way through the agora and see the vendor looking relieved but still slightly uneasy at our departure.

I walk next to the young woman and feel a surge of admiration for her negotiating abilities. She has great command of rhetoric and might undoubtedly have succeeded in political life had she been born a male. Now that I am much closer to her, I can see strands of auburn hair escaping from their confinement under her _peplo_. Her eyes, upon closer inspection, are bright green and give the impression that she can accurately analyze people.

"Why did you vouch for me back there in the agora?" I ask conversationally as we feast upon pastries purchased from a nearby pastry stand. The young woman does not speak for a bit of time but breaks her silence once we are out of the agora and in the less-occupied streets.

"I could see you looked lost and the last thing I wanted to happen was for you to be arrested and later killed."

"But why?" I persist, feeling slightly frustrated at this strange reply. "You don't even know me. For all you know, I could be a dangerous market thief who has run off with a pig!"

I realize how ludicrous the words sound the moment they leave my mouth and I am suddenly overcome with laughter. It takes a moment or two before my companion joins in, probably seeing the same ridiculous image of me trying to steal a pig while being chased by a fat vendor brandishing a long loaf of bread. We laugh until our stomachs hurt and then we sit down for a while as the slave stands behind us as a guard. After some time has passed, we resume our trek and my companion leads the way to her house. As we near our destination I ask my new friend, "What is your name?"

"Oh, Medusa," my companion replies with a bright smile. "My name is Medusa."


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Medusa's house is different from the small sun-dried mud brick buildings that lie on the outskirts of the city's agora. For one thing, this house is much bigger than those other structures and has an expanded courtyard in the back. The house's interior is also vast with a hearth that rivals any I have ever seen on Olympus. The floor is comprised of inlaid tiles with curious designs and unusual colors. A sweet aroma permeates throughout the house, bringing with it the fresh clean breeze from one of the open windows. It takes me a bit of time to discern the identity of this sweet aroma but I finally realize that it is rosewater that I smell. The reason it takes me so long to recognize this scent is because I am used to catching a strong whiff from Aphrodite's person whenever she is present. The rose water that she uses for her perfume is so heavily sweet that I usually find myself coughing and unable to breathe until she has departed from my sight. The rosewater scent in Medusa's house is more subdued and likely diluted because I can freely breathe and enjoy the scent at the same time. Even the incense used in my temple cannot compare to the pleasant atmosphere brought about by the rosewater.

Medusa smiles when I compliment her on the fragrance of the rosewater. "My mother and I often make it to ward off the smells coming from the streets. You would be surprised how far those stenches travel and how potent they are."

A small boy emerges suddenly from behind a wall hanging to the left of the room. He looks to be about four or five years old and has short curly hair almost as auburn as Medusa's but with traces of blonde in it. The boy has a shifty air about him, as though he has just made a daring and rather difficult escape from a tutor or nurse. The latter personage reveals herself by shouting out in a shrill voice, "Titos, come back here! Your bath is waiting!"

Despite my limited experience with children, it is clear to me that no boy, be he mortal or divine, likes to hear the word 'bath'. Titos proves no exception to this observation. He wrinkles his small face in an expression of distaste at the sound of the nurse's voice, then makes a beeline for Medusa. "Meddy, Meddy!" he shrieks happily.

By the time he hurls himself into her arms, his scowl has been replaced by a broad grin. Medusa smiles in return as she wraps her arms around the boy and lifts him off the ground. For a short while, she bounces him on her hip, causing them to laugh gleefully. Then she places him back on the ground and a game of chase begins, the two of them tearing across the courtyard like a pair of game hounds after a wild boar. It is clear Medusa and Titos are extremely fond of each other, a characteristic I never knew could exist between siblings. I find that I am staring dumbly after them, multiple thoughts running through my mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

I soon become quite familiar with the members of Medusa's household, more so in fact than I have ever been with my own family. Medusa's mother, Aspasia, is a handsome woman with sparkling green eyes and an energetic presence that belies the delicacy of her growing pregnancy. Despite the servants' constant pleas for her to rest more and leave the running of the house to them, Aspasia insists on personally tending her herb garden and preparing her tinctures. She also tries to get me to consume more food at mealtimes, saying that I am too thin and that such girls will never gain suitable husbands and secure futures. As a goddess, I would normally be quite insulted that anyone – and a mortal, of all people- would say such things to me. I cannot explain why but I find that I enjoy the attention Aspasia showers upon me. Maybe it is because I never experienced the strong filial bond known to exist between mothers and their daughters. Although Hera has certainly done the best she can to alleviate my loneliness, she is not my mother and never can be.

I do not see as much of Medusa's father, Dorian, as I do of Aspasia and the female members of the household. Except for Titos and Medusa's slave Spiro, the rest of the male inhabitants lead almost invisible lives. Their world lies in the lower part of the house, where Dorian spends his time conducting business or entertaining his male friends. Sometimes the sound of the men's voices will faintly carry to the upper rooms where we women spend most of our time. Dorian is a handsome stocky man with only a few tinges of grey in his blonde hair. His eyes are somewhere between blue and green and often give his face an amused expression. Although he clearly adores Aspasia, I have seen Dorian exchange secret passionate looks with the household's head manservant, Alexandros. I am aware that such feelings between males can exist; no doubt some of my brothers have carried on sexual intrigues with various unnamed mortal men. If Aspasia is aware of Dorian's wandering eye, she does not give any sign of it. At times, I think she is a bit relieved when her husband's attentions are not focused on her. Whenever she thinks no one is looking, I sometimes see a look of exhaustion creep across her face. But it is not a look of dissatisfied tiredness; she clearly feels proud of her efficiently-run household and enjoys the daily challenges that come with it. At the same time, though, it is clear to see why the servants worry about her taking too active a role during her pregnancy.

Although little Titos is known as the "Little Master" of the house, he is more restricted to the house than either Medusa or I and can often be seen trudging up the stairs to the women's quarters for his lessons while complaining that everyone other than he has a more pleasant life. Though he clearly enjoys being naughty and never hesitates to try the patience of both nurse and tutor, I have not yet seen Titos make extra work for or physically abuse a slave.

Medusa herself is the heart of the family and seems to spur on the other household inhabitants to reach their daily potential for success. She urges her mother to rest when she feels Aspasia is overtaxing herself. Medusa also has no trouble acting as mistress of the house and managing financial accounts is no grueling task for her. She personally sees to it that the _andron_ , or the room where Dorian entertains male visitors, is daily tidied and that the food and wine served are only the finest. In short, it is Medusa and the servants that give the house its efficient yet wholly restful atmosphere.

Some time passes after my arrival at Medusa's house and one afternoon in the women's quarters, Aspasia informs us that we shall be attending a wedding in three days. Medusa is at the loom, adding the finishing weaving touches to a new tunic for Dorian. I am occupied with a less pleasant task- cleaning the sheep's wool in preparation for dyeing. It is quite disgusting, for one must get rid of all the dirt and grease often found matted in the wool. Even less pleasant is picking the burrs and endless insects that are also tangled within the wool. As it is, I feel some relief at the news of a pleasant distraction- even if it is a wedding. One cannot expect a virgin goddess to become greatly ecstatic over an event that is contrary to her way of life.

Medusa has also put down her work and is gazing at her mother with rapt attention. "Who is getting married? Is it anyone we know?"

Aspasia smiles at her eldest child as she tucks a stray auburn behind Medusa's left ear. "It is your cousin Phoebe, dear. She is marrying Cosmas, eldest son of Euclid the magistrate."

I have only seen Cosmas and Euclid a few times and only then from behind the curtained window in the women's quarters. Euclid is a portly man of about sixty whose deliberate slowness in his movements gives the impression that he is always pondering some weighty manner. Cosmas is at least three decades younger and, although broad-shouldered himself, is less ample than his father but just as quiet. I have also seen Medusa's cousin Phoebe when the latter comes to visit. She is no more than fourteen, young enough to be Cosmas' daughter, but such marriages are not uncommon among mortals in Arcadia. Phoebe is awfully talkative and always manages to neglect her share of the weaving whenever she comes over. Imagining her as Cosmas' wife and mother of his children is as difficult as picturing the two of them physically consummating the marriage…

With a shudder, I tear my mind away from the image that no respectable virgin should have in her head. It is not that I have a strange aversion to carnal acts; I merely do not like the idea of enduring physical pain from male penetration. But that does not mean I am not curious about the act. I know that some of my fellow Olympians, mostly the males, spy on mortal couples in passionate heat. I, on the other hand, see this as voyeurism and so instead observe the sexual antics of animals.

Now I return my mind to the present.

"I am rather new to attending weddings," I say to Aspasia and Medusa while resuming my scouring of the unwashed wool. "Will you both provide me with instruction concerning the procedures?"


	6. Chapter 6

_**I apologize to any individuals who might be offended by the implied sexual content. Please remember, it was not uncommon in ancient times for an adolescent girl to be married to a much older man. I did my best to make the marriage ceremony as authentic as possible, which was not easy due to the lack of verifiable sources concerning ancient Greek wedding customs. If anyone has any reliable sources, please send them my way. Enjoy!**_

 **CHAPTER 6**

I am among the girls and women who attend Phoebe as she makes her way to and from the baths three mornings later. Olive oil is rubbed into her skin and spices are scattered across her body before we clothe her in the fine soft bridal robe. Her fair hair is brushed until it shines like the sun and is left unbound, trailing over her shoulders and behind her back. A pale shimmering veil is placed over her head and secured into place by pins and a simple diadem. Now Phoebe is as finely clothed as a goddess; she leaves the readying room for the ceremonial hall where her bridegroom and the guests await. Behind Phoebe come the nine maidens- her sisters Karme`, Rhoda, and Berenice; Euclid's granddaughters Eunice, Ilene, Phyllis, and Leandra; Medusa, and me.

Cosmas is wearing a chiton of similar style to Phoebe's and his dark hair is adorned with a wreath of flowers that make him look as handsome and distinguished as my brother Apollo. Although his face is composed into a mask of acceptance, I notice that his hands are buried in the folds of his ceremonial _chlamys_. No doubt they are shaking, a clear sign that he is probably just as nervous as Phoebe must be about their soon-to-be sealed marital union. Solon, Phoebe's father, steps forth from his place at Cosmas' side to guide the bride to a spot facing her new husband-to be. There, the two individuals are joined in marital union with the simple exchange of coins and the raising of the bridal veil.

Once Phoebe's face is shown to the room at large, she and Cosmas exchange a short kiss- Cosmas crouching slightly while Phoebe extends her height by rising on her tiptoes. I am somewhat surprised and a bit scandalized to see Cosmas' hands openly stroking Phoebe's swelling breasts (still hidden beneath her bridal gown) as Phoebe openly strokes her husband's curly locks. It is not until much later that I learn that this is the custom- making sure that the bride is fertile and enough of a woman to be made a bride in the legal as well as the physical sense. But despite my small shock at the open sexual intent of the actions, it is not as repulsive as I might once have thought it to be. There is something almost tender in Cosmas' face as he embraces his bride, despite the difference in age between the two. Phoebe looks radiant as she smiles at Cosmas and it is as though the idle, chattering girl has disappeared to be replaced by the passionate yet dutiful young woman who is now a wife.

The blissful moment could last forever…until it is shattered by a piercing scream. Heads turn away from the wedded couple and all eyes fall upon the girl Rhoda. She has fallen to her knees beside a pile of clothes that lie scattered on the floor. On closer inspection, we see that the clothes are the garments of a maiden. Rhoda looks up in horror at us, tears streaming down her face and disappearing into the veil that has come undone from over her lower face. "It's Karme`," she sobs uncontrollably. "She's gone!"


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Everyone in the hall is in an utter panic. Cosmas is trying to calm down Phoebe, who clutches his arm in terror. Her father, Solon, is shouting for his servants to search the area for his youngest daughter while Euclid makes gestures for his own attendants to secure the ceremonial hall. Aspasia and Polydora, the bride's mother, are busy gathering all the other women and girls and ushering them from the hall. To avoid being swept along with them, I stoop down to the ground as though I've dropped something. Medusa is still standing close by, watching me in puzzlement as I closely examine the small pile of clothes Karmê had worn to her sister's wedding ceremony. Several things catch my eye as I examine the abandoned apparel. For one thing, there are no slashes on Karmê's dress that might otherwise have indicate that the garment has been ripped off her body. I also observe that there are no bloodstains present on the clothing, so it is not likely that Karmê was hauled away at dagger point.

And as these thoughts embed into my brain, I become aware of another clue in the vicinity. A familiar scent reaches my nostrils, but it is one that I have not inhaled since my father demoted me to mortal status. Despite this recent limitation, my goddess senses still seem to be with me. Mere mortals, to the best of my knowledge, cannot smell _ambrosia_! Ambrosia indicates the presence of a god or goddess; the strength of the aroma tells how long the deity has been present. If the mortals ever did realize that the gods often witness covert actions and words, they might be more careful in their day-to-day lives.

I am thus presented with a new possibility- that it was a god and not a mortal man who has kidnapped Karmê! I have barely come to this conclusion before Aspasia shoos Medusa and me out of the room.

"What do you suppose happened to Karmê?" Medusa asks me in a low voice. We are in a separate room adjacent to the ceremonial hall where the men remain, no doubt still trying to sort out the catastrophe of Karmê's disappearance. The said disaster is very much on the women's minds as well. In one corner sit the old crones, grandmothers and the fortunate few great-grandmothers. In a concentrated cluster they cluck at poor Karmê's chances of making a respectable marriage should she emerge from her abduction still unravished. On the far opposite side of the room are the maidens, children and girls yet to be betrothed. The children are playing a game with some discarded flower petals while the maidens giggle and chatter. No doubt they are pondering the identity of Karmê's abductor and discussing how handsome or ugly he is likely to be. Perhaps they are also fantasizing how "romantic" their abductions or weddings will be. If so, then Aphrodite has a lot to answer for!

The matrons and mothers, who are nearest to us in the vicinity, are too deep in domestic conversation to hear my reply to Medusa. For some reason, I find that I am unable to fabricate a suggestion that Karmê might have absconded with a lover- both Medusa and I know that to be a ludicrous idea. But at the same time, I am uncertain just how much of my thoughts I should reveal to my newest friend.

"I do not think that Karmê was taken away by an ordinary man," I say now. "Could she have just run off somewhere on a whim?"

Medusa shakes her head, a frown casting a shadow on her fair features. "Without her clothes? Karmê was so excited to be one of the maidens in Phoebe's bridal party," she explains to me. "She practically talked of nothing else last night, remember?"

I nod, recalling Karmê s high delight from the night before. "I think the person who took her away was not a man at all," I state, and then my thoughts carelessly tumble out of my mouth before I can stop myself. "I think it was a _god_!"


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

Too late I realize that I have ventured into dangerous waters by voicing my suspicions. How can I explain these things to Medusa without revealing my identity as the goddess Athena? My father's parting warning before deposing me from deity immortal reverberates throughout my mind: _You are not allowed to tell any mortal your identity. If you violate this settlement, your time as a mortal will increase._

I am more terrified of Zeus' wrath than I am of almost anything else. My father's anger, when incurred, could probably lay waste to both the earth and Olympus while causing great suffering to the one with whom he is most displeased.

Medusa is staring at me with raised eyebrows and I find myself vainly hoping that she has not taken my assertion seriously. This is not merely because I want to avoid a prolonged existence as a mortal but also out of fear for Medusa herself. We gods can be quite cruel in dealing with mortals unfortunate enough to witness our less-than-godly actions, especially those who try to stop us or reveal our feats to the world. I would hate for anything of the sort to happen to Medusa, whose friendship I greatly value.

"Why do you say it was a god?" Medusa asks, her voice bringing me back from the endless halls that are my thoughts. Much to my disappointment, I can see that she is taking my words seriously. Her green eyes are fixed on me with such intensity that I know she has closed off her mind to the world around her. It is clear to me that trying to pass off my words as mere idle speculation will not fool Medusa in the slightest. For a mortal, she possesses an-almost god-like sense of knowing when she is being lied to. So, I entertain the possibility of taking her into my confidence- in my own way of course, without violating my father's edict.

"Let us consider the fact that no one saw Karme` disappear from the ceremony. If she had been carried off by an ordinary man, would she not have screamed for help?"

Almost instantly, Medusa pounces upon a possible argument against the suggestion. "Karme`'s abductor might have spirited her away at knife-point. She would be unlikely to scream for help if she wanted to live, right?"

I shake my head, having already considered and discarded this option. I then reveal the other observations I had made earlier in the ceremonial hall (while dressing up said observations as logical assessments). By the time I finish my presentation, Medusa shows signs of arriving at the same deductible conclusions. "This is all very well," she says as a frown forms across her pretty mouth, "but what are we to do about all this? If we share our suspicions with the search parties, they will laugh at us and refuse to take us seriously. Worse yet, they might think this whole matter a practical joke and confine us to the house indefinitely."

Looking at my friend, I can see that infinite house confinement would be unbearable for her. Medusa relishes the unusual freedom that her mother's pregnancy has brought her. She likes her daily ventures out to the agora, even though these outings are carefully chaperoned by the slave Spiro. During my time with her, I have come to realize that Medusa's yearning for life extends beyond the walls of her father's house and the small world of strictly-female domesticity that occupies much of the average mortal woman's daily life.

"I am not sure that we can do anything about Karme`'s disappearance," I finally say. "But I agree with you, Medusa. We must do _something_." 


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

I lie awake in bed mere hours after Medusa and I conclude our conversation. It is not just the certainty of Karmê's divine abduction that is keeping me awake. It is this strange feeling that I am experiencing for perhaps the first time in my life- concern for a mortal. In the past, I rarely gave a second thought to mortals. Their lives are, after all, so brief that time feels like little more than the blink of an eye. I learned early on that is unwise to become attached to mortals because of this reason and the fact that a new generation always replaces the previous one. But now that I have spent time among mortals- eaten, worked, and slept as one- I find that I cannot return to my original view. Just because mortals have brief lifetimes and eventually die is no reason to…

My train of thought disappears completely as a new thought enters my mind. It is so simple and easy that I cannot believe I did not think of it in the first place. At the same time, though, I feel a small sense of dread. If Karmê has been abducted, what guarantee is there that her kidnapper did not kill her? The only way to know for sure (apart from the unpleasant experience of discovering a dead body) is to make a journey to the Underworld and ask Hades if I might search for Karmê's name in his Roster of the Dead.

But will I even be able to find the Underworld? More importantly, what is it going to take for my estranged uncle to cooperate with me? I do not know Hades very well, but my instincts tell me that the Lord of the Underworld is not just going to allow me to peruse his work records. Not without a good reason, at least.

Even though my head feels as though it might explode from the uncertainty behind all these questions, I decide that the best thing to do right now is to sleep. Tomorrow evening I shall make (or attempt to make) my way to the Underworld. But it might be best beforehand to temporarily incapacitate the entire household, including Medusa, before settling out. No one must know of my plans lest they try to stop me. And with that final thought, I close my eyes and eventually drift off to sleep.

It is surprisingly easy to incapacitate a mortal, or maybe I should say, group of mortals. The easiest way to incapacitate a mortal is with drugged wine. This knowledge I credit to my brother Dionysus, who once showed me (in one of his rare bacchanal-free moments) to mix a certain herb into a vat of wine. Once the wine was ready, he then proceeded to drink down the entire vat. Whether he did this to demonstrate the effects of drugged wine or simply forgot that he had just tampered with said liquid, I never found out. This unquenched example of liquid gluttony knocked my pleasure-sodden brother out cold and an entire month passed before he regained consciousness.

Not wanting a similar fate to befall the members of Dorian's household, I take great care to stir small bits of the unnamed herb into one of the kitchen vats of wine. I especially do not want anything bad to happen to Medusa or Aspasia (whose pregnancy is very pronounced by this time), so I make sure to minimize their liquid intake. Once everyone (including the household slaves) is asleep, I gather my satchel of supplies, fasten a grey veil around my head, and venture out into the moonlit night.

Now that I am no longer within the confines of the house, the real difficulties pour down upon me like rapidly-released rain from a storm cloud. Fool that I am, I had spent too much time preventing Dorian's family and servants from impeding me in my mission to realize that I would also have to deal with the other mortals in the vicinity. It seems that almost every male- be he citizen, freedman, or slave- is out and about tonight. Each class is recognizable by the way the individual man dresses and walks. The citizens wear elaborately colored chitons and cloaks and walk confidently while legal freedmen walk less surely and wear only peplos, a sign that they have crossed over the line of slave but not yet into a citizen's circle. The slaves are the easiest to pick out, due to their visible markings and their brisk pace while running to and from the nearby outdoor kitchens.

An eternity seems to pass while I dodge and hide from potential meddlers as I make my way across the compound towards the semi-distant forest that curls around the edge of the landscape. Even though the port is closer than the forest to the town, I decide against stealing a fishing raft and sailing to the Underworld. For one thing, I do not know the Underworld's exact nautical location and the risk of impediment to my mission is high. The forest, on the other hand, is quiet and (hopefully) mortal-free.

I know that every city-state settlement has a secluded place for departing souls that is located on the outskirts. The common mortal belief is that a recently departed soul uses this area as a highway to the Underworld's port of call. Once there, the soul waits for Charon the ferryman to arrive and deliver him or her to the Underworld's main entrance. That, I have heard, is where the real work- judgment and eternal placement of souls- begins. My lingering goddess intuition tells me that the secluded "soul station" area is in the forest, which explains the reason fir this destination.

Making my way to the forest now is no problem but locating the soul station's entrance is quite another story. Despite the moonlight peeking in through the canopy of treetops, the whole area is too dark for my mortal eyes to distinguish any dendrochronological differences between the trees. Even the small lamp I brought with me cannot aid me in this situation. Just as I am about to give up, I hear a hoot and look up just in time to see two round yellow eyes staring down at me from the branch of a nearby darkness-bathed tree. I slowly stretch the lamp out from my body as far as my arm will go and see that my new acquaintance is a common owl. From what little of him I can see, the owl is not very large- probably about the size of a small handbasket.

The owl and I continue to stare at each for a short time before he descends from his perch to the tree's enormously rotund, gnarly trunk. He then pecks his beak against the bark three times before straightening up and flying back to his perch. Silence follows while my mind tries to digest this unusual occurrence. After all, owls do not deign to interact with a mortal during the busy nighttime. Or even at all, for that matter. But this owl is clearly not what he seems. I get the feeling that, as much as my mortal common sense tries to deny it, the owl _knows_ what I am up to and is acting as my guide. Gods will sometimes act as guides for mortals as the latter journey to fulfill quest objectives, so why is it unusual for an animal to act as guide to a goddess-turned-mortal?

It is with this question in my head that I venture up to the tree trunk and mimic the owl's previous action. My mind barely registers that almost instantly the trunk opens from the midsection downwards as though a handsaw has just split it down the middle. Behind the newly-hewn doorway lies a deep blackness that is undeniably a tunnel. Without thinking any further, I step through the doorway and begin my descent into the underground world of darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry that this chapter took several days to write, but I wanted to be sure that it was real enough and free of holes and contradictions. I know that most of the Greek myths concerning Charon describe him as a shaggy, unkempt figure but I wanted to show him as taking pride in his appearance. (Hence, the clean-shaven face and tidy hair) I confess to forming his personality partially from the character's portrayals in** _ **Hercules: The Animated Series**_ **and** _ **Hercules: The Legendary Journeys**_ **. Other than that, the Charon depicted in this story is almost entirely my own. As always, I DO NOT own the Greek myths or any of the characters within them. Except for the ones that I create, of course.**

 **CHAPTER 10**

The tunnel is cold and extremely damp. I can feel the wet loose earth crumbling under my sandaled feet, which feel so painful that I fear they might fall off. No doubt they will be covered with bleeding calluses by tomorrow morning.

It is very difficult to not think longingly of my warm and comfortable bed in Medusa's room. It is equally hard to not just turn around and leave the darkness and the cold behind me. It is only the thought of Karmê and what terror she might be experiencing that keeps me resolutely on my course. I have no desire to be a hero- I only want to help find Karmê and bring her home if I can.

I hold out my lamp before me, not just to light my way but also to reassure myself that no fiends are lurking in the dark to seize me. It is utterly ridiculous for a goddess to feel fear of something as insignificant as the dark, but I cannot help it. Most likely the presence of my own mortality has heightened whatever paranoid fears I may have had before undergoing this accursed metamorphosis. Not for the first time, I find myself silently cursing my brother Ares for this injustice. (I also inwardly blame my father Zeus, although I do not dare go any further than that.) If Ares had just kept his detestable mouth shut, I would not be in this situation. Instead I would be going about my daily routine- attending my temples, answering my petitioners, and weaving my beautiful tapestries and garments. For a time I amuse myself with derisive thoughts about what sort of toil Ares is currently enduring as a mortal. Maybe he is being forced to do something utterly humiliating like tending swine or mucking out a stall. The amusement I receive from these thoughts makes me feel less frightened of the darkness for a time, and then my paranoia resurfaces.

 _Keep going,_ I urge myself sternly. _Just because you are now mortal does not give you an excuse to act like a hysterical damsel-in-distress._ I continue venturing down the dark tunnel, feeling as though eons pass before I finally come to the path's end- a rickety old pier. This structure, which looks as though it has been here since the Titans were finally relieved of their swaddling clothes, overlooks an opaque swollen river. The thick fog that forms over the river makes it impossible for me to see what is on the other side. The only upside to this environment is that the underground cavern is no longer quite so dark. I feel confident enough to blow out and tuck away my lamp once I catch sight of the bracketed torches that adorn the various crevices in the rocky walls. These light sources cast a slightly greyish light over the entire area, making it look like it is enveloped by a light-colored thick cloak.

Suddenly, the prow of a boat emerges through the fog, followed shortly by the rest of the craft. Standing in the back of the boat is a tall figure shrouded from head to toe in shadowy robes that contrast sharply with the greyish atmosphere.

The boat floats closer and closer until it finally bumps up against the pier. I can now see the figure's face beneath his hood. His face is not skeletally gaunt with tightly-stretched skin, but it does have a narrow shape with prominent cheekbones. His eyes are deep black and might even look soulless if not for the faintest flick of light surrounding the pupils.

I hesitate a little before opening my mouth and asking, "C-Charon?"

My voice is usually low and even whenever I speak, but now it goes up an octave or two. I suddenly sound like a terrified little girl, and am appalled by it. The creature whose name I have just uttered nods in confirmation of his identity and stares at me with surprise.

"What is a live mortal girl like you doing down here? This is a station for dead souls, not live bodies." Charon's voice is deep but not gravelly.

"I need to speak to Hades." It is quite a surprise how quickly my voice has returned to its normal contralto pitch.

Charon reaches up and pulls his hood back until it hangs down his back. Now that I can see all of his face more clearly, I note his high forehead with thinning grey hair. His face is clean-shaven, giving him a spare but tidy appearance. He shakes his head at me. "The rules are clear- no live mortals in the Underworld."

"Not even in an emergency?"

"Look, whoever you are, I do not make the rules. My job is to simply row the boat and drop off the cargo." He looks expectantly around me as though hoping to see a queue of recently deceased souls standing behind me. His face contorts with visible disappointment when he realizes that I am the only other person in the vicinity.

I can tell that Charon is preparing to row back to the Underworld alone when another of these infrequent brilliant ideas hits me. I smooth my clothes down, stand up straighter, and fix the ferryman with what I hope is a severe and official look. "I have a message for Lord Hades from his niece, the Lady Athena. The message is so important that she insisted I deliver it to him in person."

Charon pauses in the act of lowering his rowing pole into the water and turns back to stare at me incredulously. "If that is so, then why is the 'illustrious goddess' not here herself?" As he speaks, Charon deposits his pole in the boat and makes a strange air gesture with the two centermost fingers of each hand at the words "illustrious goddess." It is clear than he is mocking me (although he is unaware of my true identity) and I feel my patience beginning to wear thin.

"Look, Charon," I say while at the same time trying to check my irritation, "I just work for the goddess, all right? Like you, I have a job to do and I would very much like to get it done fast. Once my task is complete, I can get out of your way and you can continue doing your job."

Charon by now is looking less sure of himself but I decide to strike the final blow that will move him from uncertainty into complete insecurity. Pursing my lips, I remark, "I was under the impression that the Lord of the Dead expects swift service and prompt message delivery from his employees." At the same time, I turn away from the ferryman and pretend to begin my journey back to the tunnel's entrance.

I am barely off the pier when I hear Charon's voice ring out behind me. "All right, you win! Come back here and I will take you to Hades."

I feel triumphant as I turn back and step into the boat, careful to put a fair distance between myself and the now-fuming ferryman. I make sure to press a coin into his outstretched palm before I sit down facing him and soon we are on our way.

"You are lucky it is a slow night, "Charon mutters darkly as he rows us away from the pier. The structure is soon swallowed up in the thick fog that surrounds the boat.

"You got anything to eat in that bag?" he asks in a slightly different tone, nodding at the satchel hanging from my right shoulder. For a moment I think of asking what he normally eats, but force myself not to behave so impishly. I am not familiar with this wave of mischievous behavior that has recently come over me, but I cannot afford to allow it to consume my character. It is very crucial for me to stay on Charon's good side otherwise he might just hurl me into the river and leave me at the mercy of whatever predators inhabit this area. I unfasten my satchel and take out a newly-made loaf of bread and a flask of wine. I then lean forward and place the nourishment on the seat just in front of Charon. He gives me a dirty look (probably for not handing him the food) and bends down to pick up his meal, halting the boat's progress as he does so.

His sour expression changes to one of delight as he begins devouring the bread. I cannot blame him; Aspasia probably has the best cook in the entire city. It is a wonder that more murders do not occur for want of the best servants. The rest of the journey is spent in silence, save for Charon draining the wine flask. Finally we arrive at what seems to be an enormous underground island fortress surrounded on all sides by the river. Looking up, I can see the faintest outline of dark stalactites on the heightened cavern ceiling. Once my head has returned to its normal position, I take note of the elongated sharp-looking thorny fence that surrounds the fortress. The fence makes it hard to get a good look at the structures within. A high stone gate stands between the two visible sides of the fence, giving no impression as to what might be on the other side. Once Charon docks the boat at a nearby pier, he walks me to the gate and places his hand on the latch. Almost immediately, the latch unfastens and the gate swings open before me. Peering inside, I am disappointed to see only pitch-black darkness ahead of me.

I turn back to look at Charon uncertainly but he only nods toward the open gate. As I prepare to step through the archway, he puts his hand on my shoulder. This causes me to look up at him in shock. Despite his rough exterior, there is a look of slight concern on his face.

"You are on your own from here on in, mortal," he says in a hoarse whisper. "Be careful to state your name and business to anyone you might encounter. If you are turned away, do not let them know I had anything to do with you being here. This job is far from being the best in the world, but it is the only occupation I have. No one will stop you leaving due to you being a live mortal. Then make your way back here and I will return you to the soul station. From there, you simply make your way back the way you came and you will soon be back in the upper world. Good luck."

And with that, he turns away and makes his way back to the dock and his boat. I watch him board his craft and then turn back to the gate and its dark interior. Pushing all further thought out of my mind, I take a deep breath and step over the threshold.


	11. Chapter 11

**It seems that I am constantly apologizing for the length of time it takes me to write and post each chapter. I just want to make sure my writing is flawless, and all plot holes are filled. In this chapter, Athena meets her uncle Hades (Ruler of the Underworld) and the two negotiate. I confess that the "deal-making" trait was borrowed from actor James Woods' ingenious portrayal of Hades in the 1997 animated film Hercules (a film from my childhood that I always liked, despite its mythological inaccuracies). Hopefully, I won't get sued for that. Other than that, I have tried to give an unbiased, villain-free characterization of the Lord of the Underworld (of the three sons of Cronus, Hades is my favorite and probably the smartest) based on the original myths. Any other liberties I have taken with his character and appearance are almost entirely my own. I am also working to correct my use of ancient Greek terms for clothing, so please bear with me. As always, I do NOT own Greek Mythology.**

 **CHAPTER 11**

For a moment I am once again in complete darkness. But only for a moment. The next thing I know, I am standing in one of the most unusual rooms I have ever seen. Unlike the rooms on Olympus and in the mortal world, this room is…round. The large torches that flicker cast an unusual light over the room. It is light enough for me to see where I am going yet dark enough for me to see shadows present on the walls.

Another shocking sensation that hits me is that I can hear low gusts of wind blowing softly across the room. Yet I do not feel them billow through my dress or even brush against the veil over my hair and lower face. As I walk into the center of the circular room, the wall opposite me is thrown into sharper relief and I see an even more remarkable sight. Four differently-colored doors with circular overhead arches are carved into the wall ahead of me. Each door stands between a thick black pillar which helps support the cavernous ceiling. The first door is a deep wine red- the color of a good wine. The second door is a dusk-colored purple like the late-night sky. The third door is a deep blue probably darker than Poseidon's deepest ocean. I find myself briefly wondering where these doors lead when my eyes fall upon the fourth and last door. The sight of this door clears my head of the momentary distraction and I feel the sparse hairs on the back of my neck prickle as though shocked by a miniscule version of Zeus' prized lightning bolts. The door is entirely black- the color I now know most mortals associate with death. It is more than likely that Hades' Roster of the Dead is somewhere beyond that door. As strong as my desire is to go through that door- I am aware of another now-familiar feeling just as powerful- fear. Whether it is fear of death itself or my uncle, I do not know. What is clear to me for perhaps the thousandth time is this- I must discover the truth of Karme's fate and somehow make my way back to Dorian's house before morning. Just because time does not exist in the Underworld hardly means that it is the same in the mortal world.

I walk through the black door and am through it before I have time to rethink my policy. The space beyond this door leads to an open recess where I see solid forms shepherding other solid forms up and down the hall. The "shepherds" wear dark black or grey robes and carry long poles which they use to keep the crowd moving in a semi-orderly fashion. I suddenly realize that I will likely need to ask one of these officials where I might find my uncle (having completely forgotten to ask Charon before leaving his grouchy company). Otherwise I might be stuck down here forever.

I seize my opportunity when the end of the line comes into sight and pounce upon one of the unsuspecting guards bringing up the stragglers. The guard looks stunned when I pull him out of formation and drag him over to the side. To my surprise, he is no more than a slight-figured boy, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age. His skin is pale, although I do not know whether this is genetic or just environmental. His light blonde hair hangs over his forehead, almost touching his amber-like eyes.

His eyes dart to the retreating figures and I know without a doubt that he is going to scream for help. I quickly clamp my hand over his lips, letting my veil come away from my face. "Do not cry out," I hiss urgently. "I will not hurt you. I just want to know where I might find the Lord of the Dead. I have an urgent message from his niece, the Lady Athena."

The boy's eyes widen, and he makes a squeaky noise. I take my hand off his mouth and wait for him to give me an answer. Instead he lets out an adolescent scream that carries down the hall and bounces off the walls: "Intruder in the Underworld! Intruder in the Underworld! Hellllp!"

Cursing myself for my stupidity, I kick the boy sharply in the shins before pushing him aside and taking off running down the hallway. I do not look back to see if the Underworld guards are following me although I have no doubt that they are. For all I know, that boy's scream might well have carried all the way to Tartarus. Charon had said that the Underworld guards would not stop me from leaving as it is quite clear that I do not belong here. But he never said what they might do to those that they view as intruders! As I run, I silently vow to somehow get my hands on the wretched ferryman and give him a piece of my mind. Several times my peplos gets in the way of my charging feet, causing me to stumble and fall. But I keep going despite the unpleasant feel of blood trickling down my thighs.

My clothes are impeding my flight, so I rip off my outer peplos and hurl it to the side as I run. I do the same with my grey veil and sandals and run faster than I have likely ever run before. Within an unspecified amount of time, I manage to elude my pursuers and find myself in what seems to be a cross between a forest and a lagoon. Although I am not by any means a great nature lover (a fact that constantly pains my aunts Hestia and Demeter), it is impossible not to feel the utter beauty and peaceful atmosphere that lies over this place. Looking up, I do not even see the cavernous ceiling that is present in the other rooms I have seen thus far. In place of the ceiling is a pale grey sky, the kind that is often present on fragile sunny days when rain threatens to fall. As much as I prefer sunshine-filled skies, I admit that the greyness has its own allure- cool, solitary, and mysterious. At most, this sky is likely an illusion Hades conjured up to maybe help him forget the dark dreary place he is forced to call home. The pine trees that make up the forest look picturesque next to the vibrant green grass and the glasslike waterfall that overlooks the lagoon. It is the sight of the waterfall that sharply reminds me of my adventurous escape from the Underworld guards and the injuries sustained in said event.

I am relieved to find that I still possess my satchel, which I failed to realize I was clutching tightly all this time. I sit down next to a tree, open the satchel and pull out a few supplies which I use to create a salve. I use the remaining tatters of my peplos to apply the salve to the scrapes on my legs before rinsing them off with a small vial of water. The sting of the salve is sharp enough to make my eyes water, but only momentarily. I then take a good look at my shoeless feet. As I had surmised earlier, each ankle has fresh angry blisters on the skin and feels slightly sore whenever I put my full weight on the heels. I am therefore forced to tear four long thick strips of cloth from the bottom of my dress and tie them around my feet (two to each foot- one around the heel and the other around the upper and lower sides of the foot).

I have just finished tying the last bandage when I suddenly hear what sounds like a thunderclap. But a thunderclap in the Underworld? My mind has barely voiced the fact before I feel the ground shake beneath my feet. An earthquake, too?

And then I see the cause of this unnatural disaster- a large black three-headed dog who bounds happily towards the waterfall like an overgrown puppy. As his paws collide with the ground, patches of grass are sent flying. With alarm I realize that I am standing almost directly in the enormous beast's path. Forgetting about my blistered feet entirely, I dart up the tree with speed so alarming that I barely experience the climb. Simultaneously, my mind seems to shut out all physical pain (particularly that emanating from my feet). I soon find myself on the highest branch I can reach, and I clutch the bark with all my might, trying to catch breath.

My lungs feel as though they are on fire and my heart is pounding so hard that I feel it might explode into pulpy bits. And on top of everything else, my arms now carry scratches from my quick ascent up the tree. My hair has come undone from its bun and now hangs down to my upper back. I am also pretty sure that my dress is torn in several more places…

As my breathing slows and my heartrate returns to normal, I hear the canine give out another deep thunder-like bark and again I feel the ground tremble as the dog likely bounds over to someone he has just realized is present. Although my line of vision is clouded by the canopy of tree branches below my feet, my hearing remains unimpaired.

The dog's barking has now diminished to a quieter, albeit still heavy, panting. I now hear a new voice, one so unlike any I have ever heard that I do not at first recognize its owner.

"Good boy, Cerberus. Good boy."

The voice is difficult to describe, but I shall do my best. It invokes the image of smoke rising gently from a pile of flaming logs. There is also a solidity about the voice- an awareness of self and the individual's personal role in the world. I am very certain that I know the speaker's identity, but it takes descending a few branches and peeking through the leaves for me to be sure. Even when my suspicion is proved correct, I can barely believe my eyes.

A dark-robed figure is crouching over a sprawled-out Cerberus, undoubtedly in the act of giving the contented canine a belly rub. The newcomer can only be Hades- I recognize him from that one time on Olympus when I saw him conversing with Hestia- but he seems different now. From what my limited mortal vision can see, the Lord of the Underworld looks…happy?

I may not be as familiar with Hades as I am with the other members of my family, but that hardly means I lack an impression of him. Ever since I can remember, my father's eldest brother has been like a shadow one likes to keep at bay. It is likely because of his association with the dead- that state of decay so abhorrent to mortals and gods alike- that makes him an unwelcome figure to behold. But Hades does not look grim and macabre now as he engages with Cerberus and scratches behind each of the large dog's ears. Although I am too far overhead to see his face properly, I have no doubt that my uncle is smiling.

The stillness of the moment is shattered when I feel the branch beneath my feet snap and before I know it, I am spread-eagled on the ground with a new pain probably in between my ribs. It is entirely possible that I am overreacting to the amount of small injuries I have received since setting foot in the Underworld, but this is the proverbial "last straw." I silently vow in future to leave all such dangerous activity to those mortals who call themselves 'heroes.' It is a wonder that I have not broken my neck!

I am so preoccupied with my inner rantings and self-scolding that I fail to notice just how much noise my crash made. The sound of low growling brings me back to my current situation and I gingerly raise my head to find the dog Cerberus (or rather, his three heads extending from his stretched-out neck) standing about ten stones' throws away from my body. All his eyes are fixed upon me and every one of his mouths reveals bared teeth. And that is not all that is facing me. My dreaded uncle- the Lord of the Underworld himself- is standing right next to his hound's lowered heads, staring down at me. Until now I had forgotten that gods tower over mortals in height; now I realize what a terrifying experience it can be.

If I could run, I would run. If I could scream, no power in the world would be able to silence me. But I can do neither of these things, so I just lie prostrate (head included) on the ground and try very hard not to give in to the terror that is coursing through my body like wildfire.

I do not hear any footsteps, a sound I had grown accustomed to hearing as a mortal but had completely forgotten is not made by deities.

"When my guards told me there was an intruder in the Underworld, I would never have guessed that one of my own nieces was behind the infiltration."

I raise my head again, this time to find Hades up close in front of me. He is crouched down on one knee, a trace of amusement visible on his otherwise reserved face. Like his brothers, the Lord of the Underworld is dark-haired, blue-eyed, and strongly-built of body. Unlike Zeus and Poseidon, though, Hades' face is clean-shaven. Though he is the eldest of the three, Hades is not quite as tall and imposing as Zeus or Poseidon. Perhaps the amount of time he spent locked away in Cronus' stomach (which was considerably long when compared to that of his younger siblings) somehow stunted his growth. Having suffered the same fate at my own father's hands (though for a much shorter amount of time), I can very well relate to the frustration my uncle must feel at not being able to completely tower over his younger brothers.

How could Hades possibly recognize me in this mortal form? He has never been on Olympus long enough to become familiar with his youngest brother's offspring!

These questions are clearly visible on my face because Hades says matter-of-factly, "Even in mortal form, a deity still carries a hint of his or her immortality. The fact that mortals cannot sense it hardly means that other gods are unable to as well."

He now frowns in thought. "The question is, which of my nieces are you?"

My hands are instantly brushing off my dress as I attempt to keep my voice steady and (hopefully) terror-free. "Athena. I am your niece Athena."

A brief silence follows while my uncle stares at me, his eyes taking in every detail of my appearance. He crosses his arms against his chest, his dark eyebrows shifting high in his austere but handsome face. "And what, may I ask, brings you to my domain?"

Again, whether it is because Hades is the Lord of the Underworld or because he is also my father's brother, I cannot say. All I know is that I find his intense gaze uncomfortable and turn my face away to choose my words carefully. I give him a summary of the circumstances that led to my demotion, my acquaintance with Medusa; _Karmê_ 's strange disappearance at the wedding, and my deduction that a god was behind the abduction.

Like Hestia, Hades has the gift of remaining silent until he has heard everything I have to say. Only when I have finished and am catching my breath does he speak. But first he convinces me to look at him directly, something I do with great difficulty. "What makes you think that your _Karmê is here in my domain? Is it because I am the first god you think of when mortal girls go missing or wind up carrying children?" His tone has become slightly icy and I am so taken aback by his straightforwardness that I am momentarily stunned into silence. But I recover myself quickly enough to mount a spirited defense._

 _"Actually, my first suspect would be my own father. I am not blind to the way he shuns Hera's bed and… physical company- he does both on a frequent basis. What I am here to establish is whether Karmê was killed in addition to being kidnapped. Between coming here to find out if such was the case or staying in the mortal world and eventually coming across a mangled corpse, I much prefer the former option!"_

 _I have been shouting and only just now do I realize it, but it is too late to take back my outburst. I half expect Hades to flare up with righteous anger at being told off by me, a goddess-turned-mortal, but he does not. Instead, he surveys me with something almost like approval._

 _"You have a surprisingly morbid mind, niece," he observes drily as a smile threatens to form across his nearly-pale face. "But you are also honest and spirited- both qualities I admire. Very well, I will help you. My Death Rosters are in my workroom."_

 _He offers me his hand, but I stare at him warily. "Why are you so eager to assist me, uncle? And furthermore, how can I go anywhere in this deplorable condition?" I gesture to my torn clothing and bruised body._

 _Hades responds by letting out an exasperated sigh. "I may be the Lord of the Underworld, niece, but I am also a god of honor. That is more than can be said for my brothers. More to the point, I am happily married (although my wife is not presently with me). I promise on the river Styx not to trick you or make any improper advances. I will even restore you and your attire to the state you were in before coming down here. All I ask is that you do not remove your friend's soul if you do discover that she is indeed down here. Do we have a deal?"_

 _His hand remains outstretched and I place my own across it. After all, my mission here is to simply find out the truth, not bring the dead back to life. Besides, I have no desire to get on my uncle's bad side. "Deal," I say, shaking his hand firmly. The next thing I know, my body and clothing have been properly restored and we are both walking to Hades' private abode to peruse his Death Rosters._


	12. Chapter 12

I am not entirely pleased with this chapter, but here it is at last. Thank you, my devoted readers, for your patience. As usual, I own nothing regarding Greek Mythology except for the characters I create! Please review and enjoy!

 **CHAPTER 12**

With a frustrated groan, I throw down the seventeenth scroll I have scoured since arriving in what Hades refers to as his "workroom." The seventeenth scroll on which Karmê's name does not appear. I know I should be relieved thus far because the absence of her name on the scroll means that Karmê is still alive. But the fear that her name might appear in the final scroll that lies before me untouched is stronger than my optimism of leaving here with the knowledge that Karmê still lives.

But delaying the inevitable only makes the occurrence harder to experience. I open the last scroll and begin to peruse the list of names that appear on the parchment. So many names and ages. Men and women, elderly individuals and small children. There are even young girls who either died unmarried or in childbirth. I have always known that no mortal can escape death, but I did not realize until now that the process itself has no barriers to persons regardless of age. Death seems to me such a loathsome state of being that I cannot help but hate it.

My mind is teeming with emotions that run contrary to one another. Naturally, I want to scream with frustration. I want to throw myself on the ground and launch a temper tantrum that would rival that of a six-year-old (in this respect, I am no different from my brother Ares). At the same time, I am experiencing exhaustion and find myself longing for sleep. Twice I catch myself beginning to nod off and only by frequent pinches along my arms am I able to stay awake. It is crucial that I complete my task and learn whether Karmê is here in the Underworld. But the monotony gradually becomes too much and, like the mortal I now am, I finally succumb to sleep's spell.

It is the feeling of someone gently shaking me and softly calling my name that finally awakens me. Had I still been a dignified Olympian goddess, I would be horrified to discover that I have been slouching forward against the stone desk with my head on my arms like a child. But such trivialities matter little to me now. I open my eyes to find Hades standing beside me, his well-chiseled face grave.

"Dawn is approaching," he says quietly. "You had best be on your way back before your mortals wake up and discover your absence."

I nod and look down at the scroll I had been perusing, hoping to conduct a last moment of rapid searching for Karmê's name. I only just manage to reach the end of the scroll when I feel my uncle's hand on my shoulder. It is only then that I turn and allow him to lead me from the room, leaving the Roster of the Dead (and the morbid feelings it inspired!) behind. Yet I feel a spark of hope, for I did not see Karmê's name in the list of deceased mortals. She _must_ be alive! She must be.


End file.
